A Game of Hearts
by Enchantable
Summary: Post 4x09. What would you risk to help another? How much would you give to be with the one you love? How far would you go to see your people safe? A dangerous game is about to begin and Gwen must find the strength to be the victor before all is lost.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay I saw 3x09 and it was like 'bam! fic time!' because holy crap how good was that episode. So this is directly after 3x09 and is mainly inspired by Gwen's statement 'where will I go?'. **

**Oh and Iseldir is not an original character. Remember the druid who saved Leon and warned Merlin about the tomb with the dragon's egg in it? Yeah, that druid is Iseldir and in my head because he hasn't gone all BAMF on Arthur yet and saved Leon, he's not immediately all 'RAWR death to Camelot'. **

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Bending down in the soft soil, Iseldir pressed his fingers into the earth and closed his eyes.

It took only the span of a heartbeat for the current that ran through the earth to reach his fingertips. The magic flew up his arm and through the very core of his being, connecting him to the land that he called home. This was his morning ritual and the magic that flowed through him at the moment might be the only true connection to the land he felt all day. The sorrow at the thought was almost enough to make him linger in his task, but the memory of what he risked in doing even this magic was enough to make him hurry.

The perimeter of their camp was safe, thank the Gods. They had spent the past three days in their settlement, which was not nearly enough time for them to gather food and replenish their dwindling water supplies. But three days was still unusually long for them to go untouched, especially when they came this close to the outskirts of Camelot. Under any other circumstance Iseldir would have refused the request but their supply of herbs was also low and they needed to come here. Still he would not rest until they were a much longer distance from the land ruled by the Pendragons.

Turning his attention northward he felt for the roads that led from the Capital. It was barely a day's ride and if the Knights got word of their presence he knew they would reach them sooner than that. But there were no disturbances on the road, none save for the woman who stumbled down the path pulling a heavy barrow. Iseldir almost withdrew his power when drops hit the web he had laid out. Frowning the druid held it there and glanced upwards, noting there was not a cloud in the dawn lightened sky.

The woman who staggered along the road was weeping hard enough for her tears to reach the dirt.

The road led to many places but given her labored and exhausted steps, Iseldir would have wagered much that the woman came from the Capital. Only those who had been banished came down the road weeping and not stopping for their exhaustion. Withdrawing his hand, Iseldir straightened up and looked at the ridge that separated him from the approaching traveler. Exhaustion, weeping, a woman who had walked all night, his heart began to beat in a frantic staccato as hope pounded through him.

Could it be that King Arthur had shown mercy to a Soceress?

Not a trained girl, of course, but a new one who had only done harmless magic in ignorance. She had been allowed to pack her belongings which meant that judgement had been passed, but she had no horse so while leniency had been shown there was still the need for haste. She had no time to sell her possessions to purchase a steed or had forgone one in her speed at packing. Iseldir did not need magic to know the girl was scared out of her wits, but her journey on the road though the night meant she was strong, probably stronger than she looked.

Wasting no time the Druid moved silently through the woods and over the ridge, crouching there in the shadows. Pressing a hand to the earth he felt for her once more and discovered she had paused in her struggle onwards. Taking care with his silence he moved towards the bend she had stopped before. Peering over the side, he looked down at the figure and felt his heart clench at the sight of her.

The poor creature looked half mad with grief. Perspiration matted her hair and stained her clothes. It mixed with the tears that slipped unheeded down her cheeks and stung the torn skin of her palms. The barrow she pulled was well made and well used, whomever had packed it took enough care to balance it well and cover the goods inside with a worn blanket. But the clothing she wore was much better made than he would have expected a woman without a horse to wear. Even in the dim light he could see the richness of the dye used in her cloak and the fine glint of metal on her boots. Her hair was long and well tended to, adding to what he imagined would have been an almost noble appearance had she not walked through the night pulling a barrow.

Iseldir did not think he had seen a girl who looked as ill defined as this one. Her hands were torn but not as badly as they should have been if she was not accustom to hard work. Her hair was long and well taken care of, but pulled back into an practical style no noblewoman would have dare worn. If she had packed the cart herself she knew enough to do it properly for balance but could not afford a horse to pull it for her. The woman was a mess of contradictions and her hysteria made it impossible to be certain if she had magic.

The only thing Iseldir was certain of was that she needed help.

There was a time not long ago when he would have helped her without a second thought. But he had his own people to worry about and this close to the border it was likely the hurt she had done the King as still fresh enough to warrant pursuit. They could not afford an attack this close to the Capital. Their best advantage came from their superior knowledge of the landscape but this close to the Capital the Knights would be on equal ground with them. They could not afford a fight with magic, not so soon after the hand magic had in Uther's death, not so soon into the reign of King Arthur.

Drawing his hand back Iseldir looked around to see if there was something he could do to ease the poor creature's wretched journey, some boon he could grant her without her knowledge. He watched as she turned to the barrow and reached inside of it for something. Surprise flew across her face as her fingers fumbled for something and pulled out a cloth. He watched as she unfolded it with shaking hands to reveal a hair ornament, something far too nice to be owned by a servant or even a minor noble. It seemed as though all the strength fled from the girl's limbs as she sat heavily down on the side of the road. Without warning she buried her face in her hands and began to weep in earnest, the steady trickle of tears replaced by a torrent.

Iseldir felt his fingers curl at the sight of her, knowing now that any choice he had was gone. He would be more of a coward than Uther Pendragon to leave the poor girl sitting by the side of the road, too distracted by her own pain to notice the world around her. Carefully stood upon the ridge, allowing his presence to be known but she paid him no heed, confirming his suspicions. Making his way down the ridge, he was able to stand on the road without the girl even noticing him. When she did she barely made acknowledgement of his presence, only lowering her hands and trying miserably to collect herself.

"A-are you here to kill me?" she asked looking at him.

"We do not kill, child," he said.

"Not even for those who would beg for death?" she whispered.

"No," he said kneeling until they were on the same level, "but I can offer you a place to rest."

"I am not worthy of such kindness," she breathed, her voice hitching on the last word.

"All are worthy," he said extending his hand to her.

She looked at his hand and then back up at him, as though she could not comprehend such compassion. Iseldir fought the fear that grew within him at the thought of what she could have done to think herself so unworthy. She wore traces of nobility, she had, if nothing else, a comfortable life. Yet here she was having walked through the night dragging her possessions behind and having convinced herself she was unworthy of anything but the most brutal treatment. What had this woman done? What business did he have putting all those he cared for in such danger?

It was ill luck when she reached out and placed her hand in his, accepting his offer with dirt and blood on her hands.

The old magic that gripped the poor girl raced across Iseldir's skin like a living thing. Suddenly the fear tat licked low in his belly turned into a raging inferno. Only his knowledge of magic kept him standing there instead of running as quickly as he could from the girl's presence. Her own breath came in a shuddering gasp as tears streamed down her cheeks, a low sound of pure heartbreak escaping her lips as her legs weakened. Iseldir gripped the girl, holding her upright as his lips found the words to push the enchantment back.

It was several heart pounding moments before Iseldir was able to wrestle the lingering spell that clung to the poor girl into submission. She gasped unevenly, the tears ceasing in shock as she stared at him with a mix of terror and confusion. Iseldir could feel the heat in his eyes and knew they were as bright as the sun. Even as the magic receded and the heat faded she continued to stare at him in shock. Iseldir was certain that if she had the strength to run she would have.

"I mean you no harm," he told her, "but the magic that held you is strong and it continues its hold on you."

"I-I am enchanted?" she breathed, seemingly not fully understanding him.

"You did not know?" he asked, feeling his brow draw in confusion.

"No," she said tears welling in her eyes again, "magic is forbidden in Camelot."

"Be that as it may," he said, "you have been enchanted and I cannot remove the spell this close to the Capital."

"No," she shook her head, "no you must," her fingers dug into his forearms, "please, you must!"

"I will, child, I will," he soothed, "but we must leave this road quickly. Whatever this enchantment has made you do it is not unheard of for a Pendragon to hunt down those who have caused him offense."

The woman looked up at him, a flurry of emotion passing across her features before they hardened. Reaching up she swiped at the tears that fell from her cheeks and nodded her consent. Turning around she grabbed the hair ornament and folded it back into the cloth. Turning she tucked the cloth into the cart and grasped the handle. Iseldir shook his head, urgency gripping him at the unfortunate nature of the situation they found themselves in.

"Take only what you need," he said, "it is best if the King thinks you taken or dead," she turned to look at him, her lips parting as though to rebuke the statement and he stepped forward, "the magic that grips you is making your emotions change. Your loyalty to your King is ill place with your offense so fresh in his mind. We must leave this place before he sends his Knights after you," she still lingered and Iselidr forced his trump card, "whatever you have done to offend him in the grip of this enchantment you will do again, I can assure you, until I remove it you are not safe in the walls of the City."

She might not have been safe in the walls afterward either but the reminder of her banishment seemed to work. Quickly the woman reached into the barrow and pulled out the hair ornament. Hurrying to the back she threw back the blanket and began to dig through the possessions there. Iseldir turned his attention to the road, both to give her privacy and to keep an eye for the Knights. He was half expecting Arthur Pendragon himself to come charging down the road and demand the poor woman's head, forcing Emry's to watch as another died for magic.

"When you are finished leave the barrow as it is," he instructed, "the more it looks like your possessions were gone through the better."

"Alright," her reply came softly.

A sound reached his ears and Iseldir spun towards the Capital, his heart leaping into his throat. Dropping to his knee he plunged his hand into the earth with enough speed to make the dirt ripple. The magic only confirmed the pair of horses that galloped towards them. They were fast and the dirt pounded with their strength even as the air billowed with a pair of scarlet cloaks embroidered with the golden dragon.

"What is it?" she asked turning to him.

"They are coming," he said straightening up, "we must go."

She turned desperately towards the Capital, emotion shining in her eyes as her fingers tightened on the sack that held her most important belongings. Iseldir grabbed her arm and all but pulled her up the hill. Pushing her to the other side, he turned around and flung out a hand, power racing across his fingertips and hiding their footprints as well as upsetting the barrow even further. Turning around he flung himself onto the earth beside the young woman, making certain they were hidden as the Knights galloped around the bend.

"Gwaine-" the first Knight called to his companion.

"I see it!" the second, Gwaine, bit back.

Iseldir listened as the two men stopped their horses and dismounted. The woman beside him tensed, her arms encircling the bag in an attempt for comfort. One of the men went for the cart while the other looked around before cupping his hand to his mouth to magnify his voice.

"Gwen!" he shouted.

"Leon, all her jewelry's gone," Gwaine said jumping down from the barrow, "whoever took her had the sense to cover their footprint," there was a frustrated sigh from Leon followed by Gwaine's swear and Iseldir winced at the sound of a fist meeting wood, "what was she thinking heading off without a horse?"

"Gwen wouldn't take something she didn't think she deserved," Leon said.

"We should have left the moment we found out," Gwaine said furiously, "not waited a full day for Arthur to calm down. I swear-"

"That's enough Gwaine," Leon cut him off, "focus on what you can learn from the barrow, we need to see how far they've gone."

"Hold on," Gwaine said and moved towards the horse. A moment later warm light blossomed across the road, supplementing the dawn light. The cart creaked under his weight as he stepped onto the back of it, "looks like they've taken her jewelry, a dress and-" he stopped, "a few of her smithing tools are gone as well."

"That makes no sense," Leon said heading over to him, "bring that light over here," Iseldir heard the whisper of his cloak as he moved before silence followed. Desperately he thought back to when he used magic, wondering if he had somehow given them away but finally Leon cleared his throat, "no, just a broken wheel."

"That's it then?" Gwaine's angry voice came back to them, "a broken wheel and some missing jewelry? _That's_ all we have to go on? We should ride back to Camelot and break out Elyan or get Percy, someone who can really track. Or better, we should tell Arthur whats happened here."

"No!" Leon cut him off with surprising harshness, "we barely snuck away, would you really put another Knight in danger? Have I taught you nothing?" Gwaine made a sound in the back of his throat and Leon continued, urgency in his voice, "missing jewelry and a broken wheel are not nothing but leading a furious King to a barrow where the only tracks are our is a foolish idea. Arthur is furious and I'll not see him take that out on Gwen."

"So you would have us sit on our asses and attend to the King while she's been kidnapped?" Gwaine demanded.

"No, of course not," Leon said, "but we cannot just go charging after her."

"Why not?"

"I will not see another person banished!" Leon bellowed, matching his furious tone before continuing in a tighter, softer one, "especially not you, seeing as this will be your third banishment."

"Second," Gwaine gritted out, "I was still banished the first time when I came back."

Iseldir tore himself from the strange argument to look at the young woman, Gwen, for that was who she had to be. She looked positively agonized, torn between running to the knights and fear of the magic that still gripped her. She knew the two men, well enough it seemed that they would run after her at the first opportunity and risk infuriating the King. Iseldir felt entirely like an outsider, as though he was missing some crucial piece of information that would make all of this fit together. Gwen knew the King well enough that someone would risk putting strong enchantment on her. Iseldir could count on one hand the people he knew who could work a spell similar to the one the young woman bore and as he thought of them all had reason enough to wish the son of Uther Pendragon dead.

"I'm returning to Camelot," Leon said, "I'll meet up with the dawn patrol outside the city."

"Hold on," Gwaine said reaching up and unfastening something, "take this with you, if they find it gone-"

"Of course," Leon said, "there's a village down the road. Start there," Gwaine made a sound of confirmation, "here," he tossed something towards him, "see if anyone recognizes that."

Iseldir pressed a hand to Gwen's shoulder, holding here there as she struggled to look up at what the two men had exchanged. Her eyes went to him and he shook his head, praying she would remember the position she was in. Tears welled in the young woman's eyes but she nodded her silent confirmation, wrapping her arms tighter around the sack in her lap. It seemed like hours before the two Knights moved, Sir Leon back to the Capital and Sir Gwaine to the village. Iseldir waited until the two men were truly gone before he removed his hand from Gwen's shoulder.

Pushing himself to his feet he resisted the urge to curse. He and his people were effectively sandwiched between two Knights who cared enough about the young woman next to him to come search for her in spite of their King's orders not to. Gwaine was willing to risk other Knights, one of whom seemed to have been imprisoned in what Iseldir could only imagine was a defense of Gwen. Iseldir turned to look at the strangle bewitching creature beside him.

"We need to leave before the King sends more men for you," he said.

She nodded, silently getting to her feet and looking over her shoulder at the road. Longing was etched on her face, longing for a life she could no longer call her own and despite the knowledge that trouble seemed to follow this woman, Iseldir felt his heart soften at the look on her face, for it was one he recognized all too well.

"I understand your pain," he told her softly. Her tearful gaze turned towards him, confusion in her eyes, "who better than a druid to understand the pain of leaving a life in Camelot before you are ready?"

Her eyes widened in surprise and belatedly he realized that perhaps she had simply thought him a magic user. But the expression on her face smoothed out quickly, leaving only a hint of unease in her gaze. Iseldir recognized it as a mark of training and politeness, he doubted there was a person in Camelot who would not look on a druid with suspicion. And here he was about to bring that to the people he had sworn to protect. It would not be the first time that Iseldir had risked everything for one loyal to the Pendragon line and as he turned towards the camp, he sent up a silent prayer that it would not be the last.

Iseldir stepped forward and after a moment heard her follow him into the darkness of the woods.

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**Next time: Gwen's enchanted, the Druids are confused and Iseldir's really just trying to help. **


	2. Chapter 2

Though the sky had not yet turned bright, life had already begun in the druid camp.

Every motion was ruled by quiet, turning what should have been an uproar into little more than a quiet whisper. Fires, sheltered from sight and wind through the night, had already begun to burn a little brighter under the watchful ministrations of their tenders. Kettles were near to boiling and what they had for the morning meal was near to cooking. The clan glanced upwards as they stepped into the camp, but Iseldir knew it was only foolishness to think they had not felt him coming. The dangers of magic were known to all, but the necessity of that sometimes overruled it.

Thankfully none were rude enough to stare at the woman who walked with him. Despite their own misgivings on his willingness to help those from Camelot, the people who trusted him did so with a passion that humbled the druid chieftain. Gwen followed him, her own suspicion equally well hidden. Iseldir looked around, judging the fires laid out before settling on the one tended by Cairrean. He led Gwen towards the woman and the warmth the fire offered, raising his hand in greeting to signal his intention.

"Iseldir," the woman greeted, "will you be joining us for our meal?"

"If it is not too much trouble," he said with a smile before turning to Gwen, "this is Gwen," he said, "Gwen this is Cairrean."

Cairrean wiped her hands on her skirts and fixed the young woman with a smile.

"Come sit by the fire," she said, turning to a younger woman, "Eithne, come get Gwen some tea," she turned to Iseldir, "a word?"

Iseldir smiled at Gwen before following Cairrean. For all of Cairrean's girth and age she moved with a steely grace through the camp. In the grey light of dawn she could have been a ghost of legends moving through the camp to lead souls to the Isle of the Blessed. Moving out of earshot, the older woman turned and looked at him without a glimmer of the warmth she had offered Gwen.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, "our supplies are low as it is and you wish to bring another mouth to feed? The girl looks half mad and I would bet my last quilt that you found her a days ride from the Capital," Iseldir nodded, "why would you bring that danger to this camp?"

"She needs our help," Iseldir said.

"You are far too willing to help those who would not show you the same kindness," Cairrean said.

"Be that as it may, I will not see us turn our back on those in need," he said, "that is not our way."

Cairrean fixed him with a glare that clearly said she did not appreciate being reminded of the ways of the druids. Folding her arms over her ample bosom Cairrean looked over at the fire where Gwen sat. Her hands were wrapped around a well worn mug, her eyes distant and seeming to see only the dim flicker of the flames. Her cheeks were still streaked with tears but they seemed to have finally stopped slipping down her cheeks.

"The poor girl was enchanted," Iseldir said, "whatever spell was used was strong, and though broken it lingers on her."

"Do you think it was a High Priestess?"

"I can think of no other with the skill to perform such a spell," Iseldir turned to the woman, "we must keep her away from the others until we are far enough away for me to break the spell without risking exposure."

"Has the King sent his Knights after her?" Iseldir nodded, "we should leave this place quickly."

"No," he said, "one rode to the village to question people, the other joined with his patrol. If we move now it will raise suspicion."

"We cannot sit here and wait for the Knights to find us," Cairrean protested.

"We will not," Iseldir said, "continue to collect what we need. It may be some time before we return to this place."

Cairrean opened her mouth to protest before pressing her lips together and nodding.

"Perhaps you should ride ahead with the girl, see if you can remove the spell. The poor creature should not suffer more."

Iseldir nodded as Cairrean turned and headed back into the camp. The druid chief lingered on the outskirts, glancing around at the people he had sworn to protect before looking back at Gwen. She looked up as Cairrean said something and offered her a bowl. Gwen shook her head, making some excuse and wrapping her hands tighter around the mug. Iseldir looked over his shoulder at the woods around them. Not eating was a bad thing, especially after the ordeal the poor girl had been through. Enchanted, starved, the very last thing Gwen needed was to fall ill as well.

Adjusting his cloak he headed for Cairrean's fire. The woman glanced up at him and handed him a cup and bowl wordlessly. Iseldir nodded his thanks and seated himself near to Gwen. Cairrean made a half murmured excuse and moved away, leaving them to themselves. It was a rarity to only have two around a fire, but Iseldir imagined it would not be the strangest thing to happen that day. Lifting his mug, he took a long drink and turned to the young woman.

"If you do not wish to eat, you should get some rest," Iseldir said.

"I cannot," Gwen replied, "if I should sleep then I will dream and if I dream I will see things my heart cannot bear."

"I understand what you say," Iseldir said, "I do not think I slept for a week after I left Camelot. Nor did I eat. I made myself so sick I nearly died," Gwen looked down, color flushing her cheeks, "though you may wish death now, it would be a truly tragic if you were to get your wish before seeing how wrong you were to want it."

She looked down at the mug.

"It does not feel wrong to wish it now," the young woman replied.

"That is the enchantment," Iseldir said, "it makes your sorrow worse, your grief stronger, your depression a thousand times harsher than it should be."

"No," Gwen said softly, "it is not the enchantment."

Iseldir frowned, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his silence. It was on his lips to tell the woman that she had no idea what was and was not the enchantment. The ignorance of magic that was forced on all those who called Camelot home ensured that. But the poor creature was in no position to listen to logic, not that he had any reason to think that she would accept the truth of magic to be such. It was the way of Camelot now, one that all the druids had been forced to accept. But it did not make their task any easier, especially not when the two worlds collided.

"We are replenishing our supplies of certain herbs that grow here," he said, "I would have seen us leave earlier but with the Knights patrolling the road it is unwise to leave before nightfall."

"I do not wish to put you in danger," Gwen began.

"You do not," Iseldir lied, "no more than we normally find ourselves in. But with the King sending out patrols, the movement of a druid camp of this size would be unwise," he smiled ruefully, "whether you were with us or not."

Gwen nodded uneasily and fell silent, considering the depths of her mug as though it held the answers she sought.

She did not seem aware of the glances that were sent her way. It was simple curiosity on the part of the druids, for it had been many months since an exile had joined their ranks. All from the youngest to the eldest knew how close they were to Camelot. Seeing a crying young woman sitting by the fire could only lead them to one conclusion. It was the wrong one but until he knew what she had done to be banished and have Knights sent after her, it was for the best that they make the assumption. They would give her sympathy if they say themselves in her.

"If you will not sleep and you will not eat, perhaps there is something we can do to occupy your mind," Gwen nodded, looking more hopeful than he had seen her, "can you ride?"

"Yes," Gwen said.

"Excellent, but we'll be walking," he said with a half smile.

He saw her lips struggle to return the gesture. The smile was not there, not yet, but the departure of the desperate melancholy was a welcomed change. Finishing his own meal, Iseldir stood and looked for Cairrean. The woman caught his eye and he looked at Gwen. Silently she nodded her understanding and moved across the fires to delegate the other tasks for the morning. Iseldir turned to see Gwen looking at him with confusion in her eyes.

"We'll be pulling up camp by nightfall," he said, 'there is much to do."

"You aren't worried about leaving them?" she asked.

"I am," he said, "but if they could not live without me then I have done a poor job in leading them," she looked at the ground, "and you need my help. Come," he continued, "if we walk at a steady pace we will be far enough by midday to remove the spell."

Gwen opened her mouth before pressing her lips together and nodding her consent. Iseldir glanced at her clothing but her pants, cloak and boots seemed better suited for the task than his. Her eyes glanced down at the sack that lay by the fire, holding all she had in the world. But something tightened in her features and before he could assure her it would be fine she stepped over to him, signaling her readiness to leave. Iseldir bit the inside of his cheek for silence and led Gwen through the camp.

Soon the camp gave way to the woods, the sound of talking and fires replaced by the early chirp of birds. The day was overcast, bathing the world in a pale grey light. Iseldir would have wished for full sun but the weak beams were enough to light his way. Normally he would have taken a route that got them far from the Capital much quicker but he had no blindfold for the girl and while his kindness went far he did not think it wise to give a stranger access to the route of woodland paths the druids had built over the past decades. One look at the girl's fragile face and Iseldir realized that a sign of distrust like a blindfold might very well have sent her over the edge.

"There will be no sun today," he said.

"No," she replied, then fell silent.

"Pity," he said, "we could do with some rain."

"Are we really going to talk about the weather?" she asked abruptly.

He turned to look at her, feeling his eyebrows raise at her sudden rudeness. She seemed to have realized her mistake as her own eyes widened, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as color blossomed on her cheeks.

"I am so sorry, I did not mean-" she began.

"No, it is I who should apologize," he said, "it's been some time since we had a girl join us so recently," he explained, "I fear all of us are trying to remember what topics are safe for conversation."

"Oh," Gwen looked at the ground before looking back up at him, "do you normally find girls later in their exile?"

Iseldir looked at her, torn between ignoring the question and answering it. Gwen did not have magic, she was enchanted. She had no reason to respect their laws and there was nothing to say she would not sell them out to her King in return for his good favor. Arthur had yet to declare war on them but Iseldir was not naive enough to think Arthur would not carry on the work of his father. He had been torn between seeing the good and believing the bad.

One of the newer girls from Mercia had tried to give them up, to see them hanged for favor with the King after she herself had produced a handful of flames. Iseldir did not know if she had brought the men back with her or if she had been executed upon entering the city, but they had all but run through the night to get far away. He had come dangerously close to splitting the camp into smaller sections and sending them in separate directions, but scattering the camp was the final move of any druid chief.

Iseldir had only considered the desperate act once before, when he had been certain beyond all certainty that the King himself was riding to murder them all. He did not regret saving the Knight, but even he could not have foreseen how quickly he would regain consciousness after being healed. No words had been exchanged as they led the Knight back to the main road, except when he turned to them and quietly gave his thanks before heading back to Camelot. Iseldir had spent the next three days certain that there was nowhere they could run. And just when he was about to give the order to split up Prince Arthur had arrived and was actually rather cordial about the whole thing.

"No," he said finally, trying to keep his answer vague, "normally they find us."

"How?" Gwen asked before looking down, "sorry. I did not mean to pry."

"It is natural to be curious," Iseldir said, "usually they are brought to us. Sometimes they find us by accident."

"And are they all magic users?" she asked.

"Now," Iseldir said, "they are now," he elaborated, "those who do not use magic no longer have a reason to seek us out," he smiled sadly, "though we help all who need it," he added.

"Even those from Camelot?" she asked. He frowned, confused at her question, "magic is forbidden in Camelot. You know I'm from Camelot," she elaborated, "I know nothing about magic, save for the fact that every time it has come into my life tragedy has followed," her fingers knotted together as her eyes welled with tears, "and if what you are saying is true and was-am-enchanted, then I do not know if I will ever feel anything but hatred towards it."

Iseldir closed his eyes again the unexpected pain that laced his heart at her words. The magic that lingered on her made her emotions heightened. It was no stretch to think that her ignorance of magic would breed suspicion and even dislike. But outright hatred, however warranted, was not something he liked to hear. Forcing himself to meet her tearful gaze he tried not to cringe at the pain he saw reflected in them.

"You pain is understandable," he said, forcing himself not to point out the million reasons not think as she was, "magic has taken much from you."

"This enchantment that holds me," she said, her tears breaking free an slipping down her cheeks, "do you know what its original purpose was?"

"I do not," he said, "but it was a powerful spell meant to do you harm."

"But it is not just me that it has harmed," she whispered, beginning to weep in earnest.

Iseldir watched her weep for only a moment before he stepped forward. Reaching out he placed a hand on her shoulder, attempting to offer comfort to the sobbing woman. She shook her head in a silent plea for space, perhaps thinking herself unworthy of any comfort. He stepped back as she pressed a hand to her mouth, her body shuddering as she struggled to bring herself under control. It was many minutes before she looked up at him, wiping at her cheeks and trying to bring herself under control.

"Come," he said, "we should remove that enchantment before you cry yourself to illness."

They walked in silence, broken only by her occasional unsteady gasp as she fought to keep her emotion in check. It was near to midday when they arrived at a clearing, though it was difficult to judge with the clouds. Iseldir crouched down and pressed his fingertips to the earth, reaching out with his magic. They were alone, the nearest people were in a village miles away and he could feel no horses being readies for the road. Opening his eyes he looked up at Gwen to see her staring down at him.

"Why do your eyes glow?" she asked.

"One of magic's great mysteries," Iseldir replied, fixing what he hoped was a welcoming smile on his face, "everyone has their own explanation but the truth has been lost," he straightened up, offering her his hand, "shall we remove the spell?"

"I-" she looked at his hand and then up at him, terror blossoming on her face. Augmented by the spell, he was surprised she was not running from the clearing, "I-" she tried again.

"I understand you're afraid," he said quickly, stepping forward slowly, as one would approach a wild animal, "but this must be done," she looked at his offered hand, "I know it is an impossible thing to ask you to trust me, but I must ask it of you now."

She looked at him, surprise registering on her face as though his words had reached some deeply buried part of her. She swallowed thickly, even as the fear on her face was slowly replaced with resolve. Isedlir watched, surprised by the change in her features. She was almost beautiful, even with her hair matted and her cheeks streaked with tears. When she reached out her hand trembled violently. Her fingers curled into a fist as her eyes shut and a harsh breath escaped her lips. Her hand streaked out and gripped his with an almost painful tightness.

Iseldir reached out and laid his other hand over hers.

"Take a deep breath," he said quietly, listening to her lungs fill, "release it," she exhaled, "and again," he told her.

Following the path of her breath, he allowed his magic to gather in their joined hands. When she inhaled, he let his magic gently touch her fingertips, retreating ever so slightly when she breathed out. For a moment she hesitated, holding her breath but then quietly she inhaled, drawing the magic further into her. Iseldir let her set the pace, though it was excruciating in its slowness. Soon though his own magic laid heavy on her, alongside the enchantment that still lingered on her. He held it there for a handful of heartbeats, letting her feel the power and be aware of the magic.

Iseldir let his magic blend with the spell that lingered on the girl, mixing until it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The magic was a mere shadow of the spell that had gripped the girl, but it was still enough to wreak havoc on her emotions. Squeezing her hand, Iseldir let the magic evaporate off her, taking with it the remnants of the enchantment that lingered. He heard her gasp roughly as the magic left her and felt his arm tug as her legs buckled and she collapsed onto the ground at his feet.

Crouching down Iseldir looked at the young woman. Her eyes were closed but her heart beat steadily, her breath coming softly and without the hitch of sobs. It seemed that the girl had simply fainted, the surprise of feeling magic and the removal of the spell letting her exhaustion finally catch up with her. Touching her shoulder he felt for remnants of the spell but none reached him. She was free of the magic that had gripped her. Letting out a relieved breath, Iseldir smiled and looked at the girl as he felt the familiar presence behind him.

"She is fine, Emrys," he said straightening up and turning to face the young Warlock.

Privately, Iseldir thought Emrys looked like he could do with a good nights rest and a hot meal himself. The Warlock had always looked gaunt and young, but standing there he looked like he would tip over if one breathed too hard around him. His clothing hung off his lanky frame and his pale eyes were marked by shadows. His gaze seemed to dance from Iseldir to Gwen and back again, as though he could not bare to look from either.

"Was she enchanted?" he asked, his gaze settling on Iseldir.

"Yes," the druid said, "but what enchanted her I cannot say."

Emrys bit his lip, one hand rising to further muss his hair in agitation. Iseldir fought not to frown at the sight of him. The quiet power that Emry's always wore was gone. He looked lost. Lost and afraid, as though he had lost something incredibly precious to him. And yet the relief on him was palpable. Iseldir glanced down at Gwen and then back at Emrys. It was difficult to think of the great Warlock as being a servant, as having something so human as friends. Yet at the moment he looked more like Cairrean's eldest son rather than the man who would one day build the greatest Kingdom the world had ever seen.

"Leon came back and i thought-" he cut himself off, looking at Iseldir, "when did you find her?"

"At the dawn," he said, "Emrys," he began, "this magic is of the Old Religion. A high member of the order wishes great harm for this girl."

"Not her," Emrys said, "they wish to harm Arthur," Iseldir felt his brow draw in confusion, "she was to be his Queen."

Surprise floored the druid as he turned to look at the woman to make certain she was still there. She was to be the Queen of Camelot? News from Camelot was precious and did not come often. He could remember a piece of gossip, that Prince Arthur had taken a liking to a maid. But that was nothing new for royalty and certainly not for the Pendragons. Before his wife's death had broken Uther Pendragon he had loved often. Truly it was a miracle that he only had one bastard.

But to marry a maid? That might have been the greatest insanity he had heard of.

"She had not been acting like herself," Emrys explained, "I should have seen the enchantment."

"No," Iseldir said, "this magic is purely of the Old Religion."

"It was Morgana," Emrys said.

Iseldir resisted the urge to cringe at the High Priestess's name. Morgana's actions had only put them in an even more perilous place and while he did not begrudge the woman leaving Camelot her rabid desire to possess the throne made him feel only shame at their shared magic.

"I cannot take her to Camelot," Emrys whispered after a moment, his voice breaking.

He looked pained at the realization and Iseldir realized that Gwen was not only Arthur's Queen, she was Emry's friend. A close friend, close enough that he wished to help her and risked the wrath of his King to find her. They would have to move quickly and be wary of both Morgana and the King, but Iseldir was more certain than ever that helping the woman was the right thing to do. The knowledge that the act of helping would ease Emry's mind only made him more certain.

"She will stay with us," Iseldir said. Emrys looked at him with confusion, "we have helped those without magic, Emrys."

"I know," Emrys began looking almost bashful, "but she is Arthur's beloved."

"That matters not," Iseldir said, "she is in need and we offer our aide," Emrys nodded, "will the King come for her?"

"No," Emrys said, "and he has sent those who dare to speak in her defense to the stocks."

"Then she is a true friend if you would risk so much to find her," Iseldir said.

"She is," Emrys agreed.

"Does she know?" Iseldir asked him after a moment of silence. Emrys shook his head, "you should return to Camelot before your King realizes what you are doing."

Emrys nodded and looked over at Gwen for a moment before turning to Iseldir and pulling something out of his pocket. The ring he held out was heavy and made of thick gold. It could have fed the entire camp for a month. But Iseldir could see that its true value laid not in the gold but in the significance of the band. Emrys held out the ring to him.

"Its hers," he said, "she should have it, even though she left it back when-" he trailed off before extending his arm further, "can you make sure she gets it? When she's ready?"

"Yes," Iseldir said taking the ring. He looked up at the Warlock, "the enchantment she was under was most likely enacted with an item that would allow the magic to work without the soceress being there. I know Morgana has a penchant for bracelets."

"Thank you," Emrys said, though whether it was for the information or the promise to look after his friend, Iseldir could not say, "I will make this right."

"And when you do, you know where to find her," Iseldir replied.

With a final look to his friend, Emrys turned and headed back to the woods. Iseldir turned the ring in his hand. It made sense now why Gwen would be so hysterical. Magic used to inspire betrayal was powerful stuff indeed. No good had ever come from playing with the hearts of men and only the truly wicked would dare attempt such a thing. Pity welled in him for the poor woman laying on the soft earth. It was no wonder she hated magic so. Bending down Iseldir gathered the woman in his arms, drawing on magic to augment his strength. She barely stirred at the change in movement.

WIth a final glance at Emrys retreating form and the future Queen in his arms, Iseldir set off for the druid camp, wondering if it was even possible for the day to get more odd.


	3. Chapter 3

**So there are two original interpretations of well known characters in the Arthurian legends introduced (kinda) in this chapter. These guys are supposed to be sons of other Knights, but in most of the legends they actually go on quests with Percival, so I didn't put too much stock in the ages. I'm trying to limit the characters introduced but they need to be here for the story. **

* * *

As it turned out, the answer to Iseldir's question was yes, the day could, in fact, get more odd.

By the time Iseldir returned to the camp, he was half certain the ring in his pocket weighed more than the girl in his arms. Staggering into camp with his eyes gold and a fainted woman in his arms would only cause alarm. Thankfully most were out collecting herbs on Cairrean's orders and the tent that sat closest to the edge was Cairrean's own. He ducked into the structure, taking care not to smack Gwen on one of the poles that supported the tent.

"Iseldir!" Eithne gasped as he moved inside the tent.

"Eithne," he greeted, trying not to gasp as he set Gwen down, "my apologies, I did not mean to startle you."

"No, it is fine," Eithne said, "have you removed the enchantment?"

"Yes," he said, allowing the magic to flow out of him. He felt the world sway as he released the spell of strength and Eithne's strong hands grasped his shoulder, steadying him as she guided him over to the lone stool, "my-"

"Apologies, yes," she said with a smile, "Galahad , get Iseldir some water and tell Bors to make himself useful and heat some water for bandages."

Iseldir accepted the waterskin and drank gratefully, the world slowly coming back into focus. When he opened his eyes Eithne was crouched before him holding out a roll still warm from baking. Iseldir took it gratefully, the food pushing the lightheadedness back even further. It had been many months since he had used magic so freely and he could feel the toll it took on him. That in itself was worrisome but that was a worry for another day. There was much they needed to do before nightfall and he could not afford to be off his feet for any longer.

"Easy," Eithne said when he made to stand, "rest for a moment."

"I cannot," he said with a shake of his head, "we must move quickly from this place."

"And we shall but you'll be no good to anyone if you faint like your friend there," she added nodding to Gwen, "Cairrean has everything under control."

Iseldir looked at the young druid and felt like weeping for her nativity. He smiled instead, knowing that it would be disrespectful and pointless to imply that Cairrean did not. There were precious few leaders left for his people and even fewer who were willing to work together. But aside from her and a handful of others, he could not tell the rest what Emrys had told him. It would put Gwen in far too much danger. As much as he wished to tell her they had to run as fast as they could, he could not, not without raising far more suspicion than he had any right to.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"I'm not certain," Eithne said turning her head, "last I saw she was overseeing the packing," the younger woman frowned and turned her head to where a young man was entering the tent, "Galahad have you seen her?"

"She's packing," came the quiet reply as Galahad walked in with the pot braced between his arms and set it down nearby.

Iseldir looked at the druid. Galahad 's age belayed his experience, both as a leader and a druid. To a passing glance he simply looked like a quiet man, just old enough for the hair that sprinkled his upper lip. His long, red gold hair was caught back in a loose tail and tucked in his hood, a habit he had begun after being called a girl once too often. His gaze was somber but he did not carry the weight of his burdens in his eyes like some.

"Eithne, can you give us a moment?" he asked.

"I'll go find Cairrean for you," she said slipping out of the tent.

Iseldir waited until he was certain she was gone before he turned to Galahad .

"This is Gwen," he said nodding to the unconscious figure, "I removed the enchantment that lingered on her," Galahad nodded his understanding, "she was the target of Morgana, High Priestess of the Old Religion," the young man's features drew together in confusion, "she was used to harm another and it is not difficult to think Morgana or someone with her will try to harm her again."

"You wish me to see her safe," Galahad said.

"I do," Iseldir confirmed.

The young man nodded, his eyes moving to where Gwen was laying. Iseldir could see the young man taking in her appearance and analyzing it. He, in turn, did the same for Galahad . It was difficult to judge the young man's emotions on a good day but he was still sitting there and had not stormed out, which he was prone to do when upset. Finally he looked away from Gwen and back to Iseldir. Quietly he nodded and pushed himself to his feet.

"I agree," he said, "I must finish packing.

"Thank you," Iseldir said.

Galahad left the tent and a few moments later Eithne came in with Cairrean. Iseldir was not surprised to see that she had returned and lingered outside the tent. The druids love of gossip was perhaps the most human thing about them. By nightfall he imagined the entire camp would know that Iseldir had asked Galahad to help keep Gwen safe. It was unusual for a new girl to be given a guard, but not unheard of. Iseldir imagined that Gwen had caused her fair share of rumors and would continue to do so.

"Thank you Eithne. Carriean," he said standing, "I feel the need to stretch my legs."

Eithne barely managed to suppress her curiosity. Iseldir knew him leaving with Cairrean twice in one day would be even more suspicious, but he needed her council. Cairrean followed him out of the tent and into the main encampment. They walked through the main camp and to the outskirts. Cairrean walked to one of the trees and turned to face him with a faint smile on her lips.

"Twice in one day you pull me aside, by the time we make camp next Eithne will have convinced everyone we're lovers."

Iseldir gave a humorless smile. His bachelorhood was the subject of much conversation, the reasons for which he had never been entirely certain. He hated the fact that what he was about to tell her would wipe the smile from her face, maybe for a long time to come.

"Emrys found me," he said.

"What?" Cairrean gasped, surprise robbing the smile from her lips, "when?"

"He came to me as I was removing the spell," he said, "Gwen is a dear friend of his."

"Does she know who he truly is?" Cairrean asked, the hush lingering in her tone.

"No," Iseldir said, "she knows him only as the King's manservant. She is a maid in the palace."

The mere mention of Arthur's title was enough to purse her lips in distaste and Iseldir felt his heart sink. His willingness to help was shared by all, but too much had been lost at the hand of the Pendragons. It was the silence of Arthur Pendragon that drove him from the druid's favor. Even the promise of the Kingdom that he would build was not enough for some. There would always be those who could not forgive the King while he stood by and watched their families be killed. Sometimes Iseldir wondered if he was a good enough person to forgive the King, and he prayed that Cairrean would be good or better than he.

"There's more," he said when Cairrean opened her mouth, "Gwen was enchanted to hurt the King."

"Spit it out, Iseldir, I have no time for games," she snapped with a harshness she reserved for conversations about the Pendragons.

"Gwen is-was-Arthur's bride."

The shock on Cairrean's face was almost comical. Never in a million years would she have expected that Arthur Pendragon would love a maid. Truthfully the shock was not so much that he was marrying a maid but that he was marrying for love. It had always been assumed he would marry for an alliance, probably with a Princess from a kingdom that had been alienated by Uther's insanity. But to marry for love, that was a strange thing. Perhaps it spoke to the best of Arthur Pendragon that he would marry for love, regardless of class.

"She needs to go back to Camelot," Cairrean said when the shock had worn off.

"No," Iseldir said without a moment's hesitation.

"She cannot stay here. Iseldir, it was mad enough that you took in a girl who had offended the King so recently. But we cannot fight both Morgana and the Knights at the same time! The fight will come to magic at the very least and all will be lost."

"Which is why we must keep her safe," he said, "Cairrean, think for a moment. If we help Arthur's beloved, think what this could do for both our people."

"If she has been banished she is not his beloved," Cairrean pointed out.

"She is," he said, "enchantment or no, she was to be his bride days ago. Do you think that the heart can grow cold that quickly?"

"I do not presume to know the heart of a Pendragon," Cairrean spat, "if they even posses such a human attribute."

Iseldir forced himself to hold his silence, not rebuking her like he wished. Under the anger she felt there was pain. The pain of a husband and two sons lost to the executioners axe, the youngest of them barely older than Arthur when it fell. She had every right to hate the King and more right than most to wish for revenge. Iseldir fought not to regret the decision to inform Cairrean of Gwen's true place, but he knew that lying to her would be worse in the end. Honesty was the cornerstone of their united clans, if he lied to her now their tribes were as good as scattered.

The worst of it was that by refusing to send Gwen away he may have done that regardless.

"A girl needs our help," he said, "she has been hurt by magic and is afraid and alone. Would you really have me turn her away?"

"We have no reason to help her," Cairrean said.

"We have every reason to help her," Iseldir said, "how long has it been since someone without magic came to us? Not since Galahad ."

"Galahad was already with the druids," Cairrean said dismissively.

"And you would have us choose who to save?" he asked, trying to appeal for her love of the druid's ways, "what kind of people does that make us?"

"He has cost us everything!" she said, her voice rising in fury, "he cost you everything!"

"And you would have us do the same in return?" he demanded, his voice sharp, "we have spent the past decades fighting to keep our ways alive because of what Arthur will do, because of the world that he will build. We are _so_ close to that world and I will not see you or anyone in this camp ruin that."

Cairrean pressed her lips together with a huff and Iseldir looked away, fighting the urge to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose. It was rare that he snapped, even rarer that he lost his temper. He wished that mention of what had been lost in Uther's quest to eliminate magic did not inspire such anger. But it did, and his pain was not unique among the druids.

"I understand your pain but I will not see us become like Morgana and her sister. We are going to help Gwen and we will see Albion rise in all its glory," Cairrean looked down in anne "if you will not do it because I have asked and you will ignore my orders," she glared at him, "then you will do it because Emrys has asked this of us."

Cairrean's eyes narrowed in anger but Iseldir held firm. He was loathe to order people, despite the fact that as leader of the clan he had the right to. He was also not foolish enough to think his orders would be enough to keep the hurt and anger at bay. Iseldir had something of a reputation for being quite bad at punishing those who disobeyed his orders. But Emry's requests held weight far greater than the words of the highest chief. Even if one day magic returned to Camelot and Arthur took his place as their King, it would still be Emrys whose words were followed without hesitation.

"This changes nothing," Cairrean said finally, her voice tight, "I assume you are planning to tell the other council?"

"Yes," Iseldir said.

"I suggest you do it one by one," Cairrean said, "and bring a shield. Lionel may very well try to kill you for this news."

* * *

She was floating.

That was the first thought to occur to Gwen. She could feel the ground moving underneath her, but warmth and softness cocooned her. The next thing to occur to her was that she was not in her bedroom. It was too soft and the place smelled of musk and herbs, not the pale flowers she placed in her house. Nor did it smell like the bright pink lilies she had seen Arthur attempting to smuggle into his bedroom in an apology for the not-quite finished state of the rooms they would move into after their wedding.

The wedding.

Gwen's eyes snapped open as her body jolted up. Her eyes darted around the interior of the wagon she found herself in as the heavy blankets that covered her fell to her lap. She was dressed in the same cloak and pants that she had worn when she left her home. Though it had been two days ago, her entire body felt painfully sore and her cloths looked and smelled as though she had worn them for weeks. Closing her eyes she reached up and pressed her hand to her forehead. Pain shot through her hand. Wincing she moved her palms down and looked at the bandages that lined her palms.

The past two days were cloaked in a haze of misery and pain, but she remembered staggering down the road. She had been grateful for the pain, the more her body hurt the less her heart seemed to ache. She had been praying for bandits or infection from her cuts, praying to die so that she would not have to feel the way she did. She was supposed to wed. She and Arthur were supposed to finally _finally_ have their happily ever after. And she had gone and ruined it. She deserved the pain of a slow, agonizing death and just as she was about to sit by the road and wait for death she had found her hair clip. And a moment later a druid had found her.

Kicking off the blankets, Gwen scrambled to the front of the wagon and pushed open the folds of the covering.

She was in a procession.

That was the only way to describe what was going on around her. A large group of people were walking despite the night road, their way lit by lanterns held on long poles. Tents and heavy equipment seemed to be in the carts and distributed among the handful of horses she saw. But every person seemed to carry a thick pack and the children held smaller parcels. The group seemed to take over the road, spreading their footprints across the path.

"There's water to your left."

Gwen turned to look at the man who held the reins in his hand. He kept his eyes on the road but Gwen got the distinct feeling he had studied every inch of her in the moment that she had been peering out of the carriage. Hanging around Knights, Gwen was used to the feeling of being inspected and the smallest, strangest details being noticed whether she wished it or not. Sternly Gwen pushed back the pain that laced her breast at the thought of the Knights of Camelot, none of whom had even seen fit to see her off.

"Thank you," she said quietly reaching up for the skin and taking a long draught, surprised to find that she felt as though she could drink the entire thing dry and still be thirsty.

"You walked for two days pulling a barrow and cried yourself to exhaustion," the man said quietly, "and this was first time you've had a spell removed from you," he glanced at her, "it is normal to be thirsty."

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Heading north," he said, "we should make camp by the border of Mercia in two days."

Gwen nodded, digesting the information. The last time she had been that far from Camelot she had been in the company of Arthur, Merlin and the Knights. Swallowing another mouthful of water to try and loosen the tightness that closed her throat, she moved forward and sat on the lip of the carriage just to the left of the man driving it.

"I'm Gwen," she said quietly.

"Galahad ," he greeted, "here," he held the reins against his thigh with his other hand and reached back, grasping a sack she had not seen, "you should eat something."

"Thank you," Gwen said opening the sack and pulling out half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese, "would you-" she began offering the food to him.

"Thank you, but no," he said looking over at her, "that's for you. Eat," he encouraged, a note of warmth entering his voice, "my first time having a spell removed I nearly ate my own arm before I found food."

At the first bite, Gwen was suddenly ravenous. She could not remember the last time she had eaten, too intent on leaving Camelot to bother with such things. Within moments the food was gone and her fingers found the apple in the bottom of the bag. Ignoring the memory of Gwaine and his love for the fruit she bit into the flesh, feeling the sweet juice run down her throat. Perhaps it was the exhaustion but the fruit tasted better than anything she could remember eating. Galahad kept his eyes ahead but Gwen got the distinct impression that he saw and took note of everything she did. Foregoing every deportment lesson she had been given, Gwen wiped her mouth messily on the back of her hand.

"Good evening, Gwen." Ignoring the hot blush on her cheeks Gwen turned to see Iseldir walk along side the wagon, "how are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," Gwen said, "how long have I been asleep?"

"You've been sleeping since midday," he said. Gwen frowned in confusion and Iseldir smiled, "I used magic to help me bring you back to camp," he explained at her unanswered question.

Gwen blanched. She was with druids, she remembered Iseldir lifting the lingering enchantment from her but suddenly it all seemed so real. She was traveling with a pack of people who had magic and as though that was not bad enough, they were leaving quickly because Leon and Gwaine had come to look for her. They were afraid of the Knights and of Camelot, because Camelot had wronged them thanks to the hatred of magic instilled by Uther. How many had seen family members on the executioner's block?

Quickly Gwen thought to what she carried with her. There were jewels, yes, but she had made certain to take smithing tools as well. They could think her family wealthy artisans, perhaps her mother had been an exiled noblewoman whose family lost everything but the jewels she was able to smuggle out. Her collection was not grand nor fine, but each piece had been a gift from Arthur and she found it impossible to throw them away. She had already left the thick gold band he slipped on her finger behind, her heart could not take giving up the rest. Not yet.

She had been in a haze of misery when Gwaine and Leon had rode up but she could not remember they had not said anything to give her away. They simply had been looking for her. Only she would know the snippets that meant they had come to find her without Arthurs permission-

Gwen fought to keep her face neutral at the realization. Leon and Gwaine had come looking for her. And from their conversation Elyan had confronted the King and been locked up because of it. While Gwen did not relish the idea of Elyan suffering in prison, the notion that her brother would do that for made her feel warner inside than she thought possible. Only Merlin had seen her off and while she had expected the Knights would side with their liege, the fact that none of them came to even speak to her had hurt worse than she would have thought possible.

"Is the enchantment removed?" Gwen asked looking at Iseldir.

"Yes," Iseldir said, "do you feel more in control of your emotions?"

Gwen frowned but nodded, realizing that she could push the agony of causing Arthur such pain to the back of her mind. It seemed wrong that she was capable of doing something like that, but Gwen knew the last time she had been conscious that was an impossible feat. Forcing herself accept the gift, no matter how she may not have deserved it, Gwen looked at Iseldir and nodded once again.

"Good," the druid said, "while you would not be the first to exhaust herself past reason and health, it is best if you do not."

"Certainly not while we are on the road," Galahad said with a kind smile.

"I see you've met Galahad," Iseldir said, clumsily changing the conversation, "he too is without magic."

Gwen looked at the young man, too surprised to hide the emotion. Galahad caught her eye and his gentle smile did not waver, as though he was used to people gawking at him. But she did not recognize him and she was certain she would if he had been banished by Uther's hand. She remembered the way every face had twisted when Uther ordered banishment, torn between gratitude at being spared the executioners axe and fear at facing a world without the home they knew. Her heart had ached for them, but never had she thought that she would join there ranks. And certainly not as the first to be banished in Arthur's reign.

"Were you saved by the druids?" Gwen asked.

"Yes," Galahad said, "I was."

"Galahad is far too modest," Iseldir said, "he was saved, yes, but he has also saved more druids than you see here."

Gwen looked over and was surprised color spread across the young man's cheeks. Even in the darkness he blushed quite furiously, looking more delicate and feminine than Gwen would have expected. But no denial fell from his lips and though she knew little of Iseldir she could not see the point in him lying about another's heroic deeds.

"I only sought to return the kindness that had been shown to me," the young man said, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking ahead at the horse.

"Will we walk through the night?" Gwen asked before the silence could get too dampening.

"Yes," Iseldir said.

Gwen nodded, there was much she wished to say to the druid. Iseldir looked at her carefully before moving forward and stepping onto the wagon with a lightness she would not expected from the man. The horses snorted but did not spook at the additional weight. Gwen eased back into the wagon and Iseldir followed, lowering himself onto a tied down pile of tents as Gwen seated herself on the unmade bed. She glanced over at where Galahad's back was visible and looked back at Iseldir.

"I wished to thank you for what you did," she said, "I know it could not have been easy to use magic on one from Camelot."

"No, but I welcomed the challenge," he said. She frowned, confused, "your fear of magic, however understandable, makes it more difficult to work with you."

"Really?" Gwen raised her eyebrows, "it has never seemed to stop those who wish to use magic before."

"A rule of magic, as with most things, it is far easier to make a mess than it is to clean it up," he said.

Gwen tried to smile, realizing that he had probably changed some long held proverb around for her to understand. But the mess she had made in Camelot was so great, Gwen wondered if it was even possible to clean it up. And worse, if she found a way to clean the mess she had made and set things right, what would Arthur think if he found she had been traveling with those who used magic? In her wildest and most closely held hopes she could imagine forgiveness for one offense so great, but not for two.

"The magic which held you was very strong," Iseldir said, "can you think of any who would wish you such harm?"

She looked up at him but in the dim light of the lanterns it was impossible to read his features. Her mind immediately went to Morgana, the one who wished to harm Arthur more than anyone else. Gwen was no fool, she knew that even with love as the driving force for marriage, she had a duty. The throne would not truly be safe until Arthur had an heir and a line of succession was established. But if she told Iseldir that a High Priestess of Morgana's reputation wished her to come to harm, he would ask for explanation.

And she could not tell them who she had been in Camelot.

"No," she said with a shake of her head, "I cannot," she forced herself to yawn, "forgive me," she said with a self conscious smile, "I thought I had slept all I could."

"It is fine," Iseldir said, "you should rest. I will see that Galahad wakes you when we make camp."

"Thank you," Gwen said as the druid stood.

He acknowledged her thanks with a nod and ducked out of the wagon, leaving her to the darkness. Though Gwen had only meant to avoid answering his question, the moment her head laid against the softness of the bedding consciousness left her and she fell asleep.

On the other side of the wagon, Iseldir listened to Gwen's breath even out. He knew the girl had sought only to avoid answering the questions he would pose. Mentally he commended her for realizing that revealing her past position in Camelot would only put her in danger. He looked over at Galahad who kept his eyes to the front, moving only to pull his hood up higher against the night chill. A loud peel of laughter broke through the silence and Iseldir saw several druids wince at its volume.

"I must speak to Lionel," Iseldir said, fighting against the knot of fear that settled in his stomach at the thought.

Wordlessly Galahad reached into his cloak and pulled out a curved blade, offering it to him hilt first. Iseldir glared at the blade and looked at the younger man, mentally cursing the druid's penchant for gossip.

"I will not need that," he bit out, swinging off the cart and landing.

Galahad smiled at him and slid the knife back into the folds of his cloak as Iseldir followed the sound of laughter towards where Lionel was riding.

* * *

**Next time:**

**Gwen stays awake longer, Iseldir's honesty and faith in his council gets him into trouble and a friend of Camelot finds Gwen. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay so we've got the final intro of the cast for the story. From this point on I've got no plans for new characters to be introduced, since I do want this to be focused around Gwen and her building a life from Camelot. **

**Now back to the story!**

* * *

Druid clans were not static things.

They formed and were unformed with surprising speed, depending on the needs of the people. In the early years when the handful of druids in the woods found their population quadrupled in a matter of months, they had split themselves into smaller groups to accommodate the needs of their people. The older ones had taken groups of the new arrivals and taught them the ways of the druids. In time the older druids passed on and the younger began to lead. Marriage, necessity, all of it changed their numbers and organization.

But there was a succession.

The chieftains had all been chosen either by the first group of elders or by one who had been chosen by them. Even when clans came together and a single chieftain was chosen, the others remained to serve as council. There were many different ways to choose who the leader would be, but more often than not it came down to one clan asking to join another. The asking chieftain would defer to the one who gave permission and the people would be given a choice to stay with the newly formed clan or seek out another.

Iseldir's clan had joined with Cairrean's some years ago after an attack by bandits left half of them dead. Lionel's clan had come to them barely a year ago under equally unfortunate circumstances. Lionel had won his place as chieftain in a fight with his brother Bors but spared the others life in what had been perhaps his only act of mercy to an enemy. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive but he had seen his people safely to a larger clan and iseldir could not help but respect him for that.

Now however as he walked towards the man he wished Lionel was quicker to forgive like his brother. Cairrean might have accepted the request of Emrys without question but Iseldir was not certain he could expect the same from Lionel. Like all druids he knew of Emrys and his position in their lore. Unlike the rest of them he was free in his criticism and often pointed out that if Emrys would move a bit quicker they could have their Albion by now.

Lionel rode at the back of the procession. Unlike most he wore leather armor under his cloak and his person was liberally scattered with weapons. The sword at his hip and bow across his back were easiest to see but Iseldir could make out the hilts of several lighter daggers intended for throwing at each wrist and a longer knife slid into a special sheath at his boot. Three similarly dressed and armored figures walked nearby, those who Lionel trusted to protect the clan.

"Lionel," Iseldir looked at him, "may I speak to you?"

"Aye," he turned to one of the cloaked figures who was the only other to carry a bow, "Deidre, switch with me."

The figure gave a curt nod and strode over. Barley slowing the horse, Lionel jumped off and swapped places with Deidre who, with a press of heels to horseflesh, had the steed make up the short distance and vanish into the crowd. Iseldir let the armed group ride ahead. Fighting not to look at the weapons that could be used to kill him in a variety of ways, he focused on the man's face instead.

"As you have seen we have a new girl with us."

"Gwen," Lionel said, "she's the first that new Pendragon banished. He keeps going like this and he's not going to have any subjects left!"

"I doubt that," Iseldir said, "but that is not what I wished to speak to you about. You are a valued member of my council," he began, "and we have sworn to work together but I must ask that you hear me out before you act."

"Very well," Lionel said, "you have my word."

"As you may have heard, Gwen comes to us from Camelot. She has been banished by the King though her offenses were committed under the influence of powerful magic. She has no title, no lands and nearly wept herself to illness as the enchantment lingered on her," Lionel snorted in disgust, "as I removed the enchantment I was visited by Emrys who told me why the girl became the target of such powerful magic."

"Iseldir your build up does little to make me think I will like the news you are about to share," Lionel said.

"Truly you will not," Iseldir said, "Gwen was the beloved of Arthur Pendragon and as of a few days ago, she was to be his Queen."

Lionel went ramrod straight, his feet stopping dead in the pitted dirt of the road. Iseldir turned to face him, keeping his hands loose by his sides. If Lionel went for him out of rage his only chance would be to defend with magic. Perhaps he should have taken Galad's dagger. His heart plummeted as Lionel went to draw the blade, murder shining in his eyes.

"Lionel, please," he began, hoping for reason.

"Pendragon's bride deserves to die," the younger man snarled, pulling the sword fully from its scabbard.

"She is no longer his bride," Iseldir said, 'she has lost as much as you have-"

"Do not compare me to one who would lay with that sniveling rat of a man!"

"Enough!"

Instantly Lionel's sword was back in its scabbard. The young man looked at the blade and then up at Iseldir, his features darkening further with fury. Iseldir stood firm, wincing as he heard the horse ahead stop at the sound of magic. Lionel's hand went for the hilt once more and Iseldir smacked it away without raising a hand. The magic he used was simple, barely enough to flick his irises gold, but simple magic was all that was required to stop a single man blinded with rage. Foregoing the blade Lionel lunged for him and Iseldir twisted, drawing magic around his arms in a binding spell and forcing the younger druid to the ground.

"Let me up!" Lionel bellowed, his own eyes flicking gold as he struggled against the binding.

"Not until this madness leaves you," Iseldir said.

"Madness has gripped you if you would bring a Pendragon in our midst!"

"Quiet your tongue or I will bind that as well," Iseldir said, not bothering to correct him.

"So you have not told them?" Lionel demanded, "Half a day with us and the Pendragon whore has already convinced you to lie to your people!"

The sound of hooves silenced Lionel as the horse rode up, carrying on it two riders this time. Deidre pulled the steed to a stop and the second rider jumped off, pushing back his hood to reveal features that marked him as Lionel's elder brother. However there were two clear differences. Where Lionel's skin was smooth and unbroken, a long scar stretched from the corner of Bors' eye to the edge of his mouth. But his dark eyes held a humor that was absent in Lionel's and even at the sound of shouting and the clear mark of magic on his brother his lips curved into a warm smile.

"By the Gods Lionel, you keep shouting like this and there'll be no point to riding from Camelot," Bors said with a shake of his head, "halfway through the night and you've already got yourself tied up. This may be a new record for you."

Lionel glared furiously at his brother and Iseldir, his eyes moving between them as though he was not certain who to loath more that moment.

"Deidre, you should ride ahead. I think Gwen might need another set of eyes on her."

The rider gave a curt nod and kicked the horse to life, moving quickly and seamlessly through the crowd towards the wagon. The group got farther and farther away as Lionel tried to struggle against his binding while Bors stood behind Iseldir, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Iseldir held the binding there, watching the young man struggle. His own magic allowed him to his knees but Iseldir's eyes flashed gold and that was as far as he got coming out of the mud.

"You are trusted council, no matter how foolish your anger makes you," he said, "if you find yourself unable to keep your blade in its sheath and your tongue in your mouth then you can take your people and go."

"You would break us for her?" the young man demanded.

"It is not I who would break us," Iseldir snapped, "but I will not see us sink to the level of the Pendragons. The girl needs our help. If you are willing to cause her harm to hurt another then you are no better than Morgana and it is her you should follow. I will have no use for you."

He drew his magic back with force than he intended, leaving the young man sputtering in the mud. Bors stared at him, surprise written on his face. It was rare Iseldir let his temper get the best of him and used his magic against another. It risked much, but when he did it served to all as a reminder of why his clan had become strong enough to be sought for help by others. Instead of turning and letting his words linger he stepped forward and looked down on Lionel.

"What is your answer?"

"My clan knows the truth," he said. Iseldir frowned as he pushed himself to his feet, spitting mud laced spit as he went, "we've taken the role of guard and I'll not have them guard one loved by the son of Uther Pendragon without knowing it."

Iseldir frowned, ignoring Bors' sharp inhale. He had planned to wait for Gwen to tell them her tale but Lionel did speak the truth. His clan was forged on bloodshed and the group who hd joined them did not survive on quick tongues. It was a rare day their eyes went gold, yet even the greatest of those with magic would be reluctant to stand against them in a fight.

"They are sworn to secrecy," he said, "and not from the clan, from everyone. I hear a word, a _whisper_ that she is traveling with us and I will see that is the last thing you communicate to another soul."

"Fine," Lionel snapped brushing back his hair. He turned to Bors, "we guard Pendragon's whore. We decide if we wish to leave at the next camp."

With a final, vicious glare at Iseldir he turned and stormed off. Iseldir let a shaky breath escape him. He had planned on secrecy and respect, a decision only enforced by Gwen's reluctance to tell him of her past. Yet for all he had privately promised himself silence, it seemed he could not keep from sharing the secret. And now he had gone and told practically everyone who was capable of causing Gwen great harm, all for whom she had chosen to love and who chose to love her.

"And you?" he asked turning to Bors, "what will you do?"

"Protect a whore, I suppose," he said with a shrug, "after all, my cousin did love her."

* * *

A hand on her shoulder woke Gwen.

Opening her eyes she turned to see Galahad leaning over her. Slowly Gwen pushed herself up, blinking to clear the last of sleep from her eyes. She was still in the wagon but the front and back had been opened, letting in the fresh air and the sun. The warm light of day painted Galahad's pale skin peach and brought the red out in the gold of his hair. His features seemed less delicate in the sun, making him seem more like a man who could handle a blade than the youth he had seemed last night.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better," Gwen lied, "where have we stopped?"

"We're south of the woods surrounding the capital," he said, "about four days hard ride from the City itself."

"Four days?" she gasped, unable to keep the surprise from her face.

"The druids have practice in moving quickly," Galahad said, a smile turning up his lips, "though to look at their size one would not think such a thing."

"No," Gwen agreed pushing herself to her feet.

The pain that crashed over her almost pushed her back to the bed.

There was not an inch of her that did not hurt. Everything from her toes to her fingertips felt either rubbed or split open. Even a lifetime of hard work was poor training when it came to her grief filled run through the woods. She could feel the bandages that wrapped around her feet and saw similar wrappings around her hands. But there were no bandages for the soreness in her arms and legs, or the puffiness she could feel on her eyes. She realized she must look as terrible as she felt, but even the knowledge that she deserved the humiliation did not make her feel much better.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Gwen slowly walked to the front of the wagon and pushed back the flaps.

The camp she found herself in paled in comparison to the one she had woken in a day earlier. There were only a handful of tents and another wagon other than the one she slept in, though there were many who continued to sleep on bedrolls. Frowning Gwen turned to look at the fire that burned next to her. The embers flickered with faint flame, more like the ghost of the stuff than actual fire. But the heat still came from them, more even than a real fire would do. Gwen leaned forward to look at it when a hand grasped her arm.

"Careful. It will burn you as well as any fire made with flint and steel."

"Why can I not see the flames?" she asked.

"That is the point of the fire," Cairrean said bustling towards them, "those without magic cannot see it, those with can find us without difficulty."

Gwen straightened and looked at the woman, trying to keep her face neutral. There was a hardness around Cairrean's eyes that was not there last night. She considered trying to smile but realized that the gesture would look empty, and that would probably be worse than not smiling.

"R-really?" Gwen mentally cursed the stutter in her voice, "that's quite ingenious," Cairrean raised her brows as though surprised at what she had said.

Surprised or offended, Gwen could not really tell.

"Yes, it is," Iseldir's voice came as the druid approached them, "it was actually Cairrean's idea," he explained, "one of several rather ingenious she came up with some time ago."

"Good morning Iseldir," Gwen greeted, trying to inject pleasantness into her tone.

"Good morning to you as well," Iseldir replied, "are you feeling well?"

"Yes, thank you," Gwen said, "did we cover all the ground?" she asked him.

"That and then some," Iseldir said, "we should only be on the road for another day or so," he explained.

"We should continue for two," Cairrean muttered before clearing her throat, "I'll see what we can do about breakfast," she said shuffling off.

"Traveling makes some grumpy," Galahad said quietly before turning to the fire.

Gwen nodded as though it made sense, as though she had any idea what effect traveling like this would have on people. Invisible fires, living in camps that could be packed up in a moment's notice, all of it seemed to make the ache in her chest ease slightly. Only the slight ease made her feel worse. She was truly a horrible person if she took delight in the suffering of another, let alone an entire village of them. Her eyes swept the camp. Now that they were moving it seemed like an impossibly large number called this camp home.

How many of them had once called Uther their King?

How many of them were meant to call Arthur the same?

Looking down Gwen fought against the sudden tightness in her throat. The spell was gone, she could force her emotions back, yet even a passing thought of Arthur made her throat close and her eyes sting. Forcing air into her lungs, Gwen looked over at Iseldir who seemed to be looking at the fire but met her gaze the instant it was turned towards him. Not for the first time Gwen wished she could smile or do something to let him know her gratitude towards his kindness.

"Sorry," she said instead, "my mind was wandering."

"That is perfectly understandable," Iseldir said, "you must have much on your mind-"

"Iseldir."

Gwen turned at the call of the druid's name. The voice that said it was sharp, holding none of the affection Iseldir was more than worthy of. But as she looked at the man who stood there, Gwen noted that his features held none of it either. He looked cold. Cold and angry and more closed off than she had seen a man look in some time. The fact that he was dressed in full mail and armor did only seemed to re-enforce the fact that this man was unlike any of the druid's she had met. In fact, as she looked at him she realized he looked more like a knight than a druid.

"Gwen, this is Lionel," Iseldir said, a note of the same coldness slipping into his tone, "Lionel, this is the girl I was telling you of."

When Lionel's dark eyes landed on her, Gwen fought not to shiver at the unexpected wave of coldness that seemed to wash over her. It was difficult to speak in the face of such sharp and palpable anger, all the words seemed to stick in the back of her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Galahad straighten up, one hand moving down towards his side. Lionel's eyes darted towards the movement before settling back on her, but the brief respite was enough to unstick her tongue.

"Hello," Gwen said. forcing herself to speak.

The coldness on Lionel's face vanished, replaced with a fury Gwen was all too familiar with. It echoed of Arthur's fury, of the hatred and anger he felt when he discovered her betrayal. Instantly Gwen's thoughts went to a muddled mess, panic blossoming in her chest as the memory of Arthur's painful grip swelled up in her head. He had been in mail too and the sound of it had echoed around the throne room when he shook her as though the answers he wished to hear would fall out of her lips.

Suddenly she knew it was more than pulling the barrow that made her arms sore.

She was running before she realized her feet were moving. All that mattered was getting away from the man who was not Arthur and his cold eyes which were too much like his. She could not stand in front of another person who hated her enough to raise a hand to her flesh. But between the pain in her feet and the remnants of her run through the woods, she barely made it to the trees before her knees gave out. She all but collapsed against the nearest tree, gasping for air as tears threatened her once more.

Her hand shook as she fumbled with the sleeve of he cloak up before shoving it up to reveal the darkened handprint of her upper arm.

Tears swarmed her vision and though there was nothing in her stomach Gwen felt it roll. Doubling over she heaved but nothing came up, making her feel only worse. Her father had never raised a hand to her mother, but Gwen had seen other women who tried to hide their bruises with linen, who walked out in the heat of summer with long sleeves and shawls. Now she was like them, except the man who gave her the marks threw her out before she could have worked up the nerve to leave him. Sinking to her bottom on the soft earth, Gwen wrapped her arms around her torso, her hands avoiding the bruises and tried not to dissolve into tears again.

Her thumbs brushed against the edge of the bruises, feeling when the pain began as the skin was pressed. She had watched Arthur's hands do amazing things, but she never thought she would feel them mark her in that way. Moving her hands up higher she tried to fit them to the bruises, pressing against the skin and feeling it ache in response. Her hands barely fit the bruises. For all that she held his hands Gwen never realized how huge they were in comparison to hers. It was only recently that Arthur seemed anything but larger than life, it was a painful reminder of the many differences between them.

Gripping the bruised skin tighter, Gwen leaned her forehead against her knees and looked at the dirt between her boot tips. Two days ago she never would have thought she'd be sitting in the woods, wearing sturdy boots instead of silken slippers and trousers instead of skirts. If they had been married would Arthur still have raised a hand to her? What would it have taken for him to do it if she had not kissed Lancelot? Gwen was not even sure that such a thing mattered. She knew Arthur was impossibly strong in so many ways.

It just never occurred to Gwen that he would use that strength to hurt her.

Unwinding her arms from around her torso, Gwen pressed her hands to the dirt. Her limbs trembled but she forced herself up, ignoring the scrape of bark against the sore muscles in her back. Somehow every ache now seemed to trace back to the bruises on her arms. Every mark on her seemed to belong to Arthur, even though only the bruises on her arms had actually been made by his hands. Struggling to her feet Gwen leaned against the tree, letting the back of her skull rest against the wood.

"Gwen!"

The hiss of her name with a familiar voice snapped her eyes open. She turned her head just as Gwaine came out of the thicket of trees. He looked awful, the shadow of a beard that he usually wore was thicker and the circles under his eyes were dark. Gone was his mail and cloak, but the red tunic he wore was standard issue to wear underneath mail, which meant he couldn't have shed it long ago. The knight looked at her like he was half sure she was going to have a breakdown and Gwen was painfully reminded of the fact that not an inch of her wasn't bruised, sore or swollen.

"Gwaine?" she almost reached up to swipe for tears before she remembered the bandages on her hands and thought better of it, "w-what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to rescue you," Gwaine said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I don't need saving Gwaine," Gwen said, fighting the traitorous tremble in her tone, "I was banished, remember?"

"Aye," Gwaine said, "been there myself, more than once," the Knight said, his tone growing quiet, "so you're not kidnapped then?"

"No," Gwen shook her head.

"You certain?" Gwaine asked, moving his hand forward. Gwen shied back, "easy now, can you look in my eyes?" he questioned. Gwen turned her face towards him, meeting his gaze, "okay, can I see your hands?"

Slowly Gwen extended her hands. Gwaine reached out, his movements slow and gentle as though she was a horse he thought would spook. Carefully his hands slid underneath hers, gently supporting them as he looked at the bandages. Gwen tore her eyes from his face to look at them herself, noting the neat wraps and smell of herbs. Leaning forward Gwaine sniffed at the herbs that coated them, his nose wrinkling at the smell before he leaned back, though his hands remained cupping hers.

"Myrrh and thyme, for your cuts," he said, "and cloves, for the pain. Did they say anything to you while they were binding this?" he asked.

"No," Gwen said, "I was asleep when they did it-" she frowned and looked at him, "what are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Gwaine asked turning her hands over carefully.

"Why are you inspecting me?" Gwen asked pulling her hands from his grasp.

"Leon and I found your barrow on the road, all your jewelry was missing and you were nowhere to be found. They've been keeping you in a wagon for two days with armed guards riding beside you. Gwen these people aren't friends of-"

"Shh," Gwen hissed him before he could speak Arthur's name, "they don't know who I am."

Surprise was written all over Gwaine's face and if the circumstances had been any different Gwen would have laughed at the fact use had rendered the most talkative knight speechless. As it was she just felt worse at the deception, especially since seeing Gwaine there only confirmed the fact that she could not return to Camelot with him. Gwaine looked over her shoulder at the druids and then back to her, the look on his face anything but comforting. It was a risk, they both knew it, but it was one she was going to have to take.

"He banished me," she began in a slow voice, "I cannot go back there," Gwaine frowned as he looked at her, "I am to return only on pain of death," she shook her head, "and even if that was not the case, how am I to return to Camelot knowing that I am at the mercy of someone who has that power?"

"I-"

"I know you were banished and you returned but it was Uther who banished you-" she began.

"I was going to say that I understand," Gwaine cut in.

"You do?" Gwen asked, looking up at the knight.

"I do," he let out a frustrated breath, "I don't like you staying here, banished or no if these people found out who you were they might turn on you."

"I know," Gwen said, "but I've given them no reason to suspect anything," she met his gaze, "they think I am a banished girl from Camelot and they are right," she hesitated,"and if I need to leave I have my jewelry, I can sell it or trade it to get far from here."

Gwaine looked down at her with surprise again and this time Gwen did smile.

"I do know how to live outside the palace," she reminded him gently.

"That you do," Gwaine conceded, "so you'll stay with them then," it was not a question but Gwen nodded all the same, "and there's no chance I can convince you otherwise?" she shook her head, "how are we going to find you when Arthur stops being a royal ass?"

Gwen looked at him and wished she felt the kind of certainty he did that she would one day return to Camelot. Even if Arthur stopped being a 'royal ass', Gwen did not know if she was going to be able to go back. Just the thought of standing in the throne room made her knees ache and her chest tighten at the memory of his fury. Pushing the emotion away she looked up at him and tried to give her bravest smile.

"You found me once, I have every faith you can do it again."

Gwaine smiled at her and opened his mouth to speak when the sound of a bow being drawn noisily silenced them both.

"Aye, he can find you again," a voice said, "but to do that he's going to have to leave first. And that's not about to happen."

* * *

**Way to go Gwaine.**

**Next time: Gwaine's in more trouble, Gwen tries to help and an old friend steps in for a rescue, only to find his closely guarded secret revealed. **


End file.
